


Familiarity

by beanarie



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Character of Color, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Male Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shots are fired. Gregson keeps Sherlock from bleeding out, and later Bell helps Joan play the waiting game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiarity

Suddenly Holmes has a hole in him.

The shooter takes off running, and Bell follows after a nod from Tobias and an admonishment to "Be careful." Bell is cool-headed and pragmatic, but Tobias can't forget how at twenty-eight he didn't know a tenth of what he knows now, and they don't need anyone else down today. He calls it in on the radio. Garrity says EMS is en route, and so is backup for Bell.

Holmes is leaning against the brick wall, his left hand pressed against the wound high on his right side. His right hand flails out wildly and Tobias catches it, easing him to the ground. "Jesus, Holmes."

Holmes widens his eyes, offended. "I asked for this?" 

"Well, you did tell Miss Watson you have a ton of enemies. Sure you didn't get that by being charming and selfless." Tobias takes out his handkerchief and pries Holmes's hand away so he can take over. There's no exit wound, which he knows isn't a great thing. 

"Enemies, right." Holmes breathes in sharply through his nose, resolution writ large on his face. "T-Tobias-"

Tobias almost groans out loud. Holmes thinks he's so unpredictable, which, fine, credit where credit's due, Tobias will probably never figure out how that mind works. At the same time, he feels pretty confident guessing how Holmes will react to certain things, going by the behavior patterns of his ten year old niece, Sadie. And that's their problem in a nutshell. 

"Hey. Hey. Holmes, you turn this into a deathbed confession type of moment, I swear to God I will smother you right here."

"Watson would deduce how I died. You'd never get away with it."

"You're assuming she wouldn't see my side of things." Tobias lets himself smirk. "I like my chances."

"Quite. Sherlock Holmes, the insufferable." His shoulders periodically rise an inch or two off the ground, unconscious attempts at escape Tobias can't blame on the topic of conversation. "Record could do with a change, hm?"

"The song is getting pretty old," Tobias agrees, pointedly. "Listen, anything you need to say, you say standing up or it doesn't mean much. You understand? Don't think you can use getting shot as your get out of jail free card." 

Holmes nods wordlessly, closing his eyes. 

"Hey." Tobias snaps his fingers. "I heard you stole a turtle from a crime scene last month. What's he called?"

"Clyde," Miss Watson answers, appearing at his side. "All he does is eat and stroll around the house. I wish I had his life."

"Watson," Holmes says, rousing and smiling a little. His voice is hushed. "So that's how long it takes to run down four flights of stairs in those shoes."

If she hadn’t stopped to ask the super something, she would have been out here with them when the shots were fired. Tobias decides it's nice to have one thing to be grateful for right now.

"Sherlock, your body modification kick has officially gotten out of control." She pushes two steady fingers against the skin under his jaw. It isn’t hard to recall how thrown she was when she thought Sherlock had fallen off the grid to go shoot heroin, and when that M thing happened. She isn't showing a hint of that fear now. This really is her area.

"Fortunate to have gotten this piercing for free," Holmes says. "You know how much this could have set me back?"

"Speaking of setbacks," she mutters. "I hope you're not getting too much enjoyment from the loss of blood."

"The euphoria is mitigated by the blinding pain, not to worry."

The radio squawks. EMS is two minutes out.

"Next time," she says, checking his pupils, tipping his chin down to look inside his mouth. "Just get another tattoo."

~

The waiting area is kind of nice. The chairs face out to a row of a windows and the view is decent, a rooftop garden rather than the back alley where they keep the dumpsters. The advantages of being on a higher floor. Miss Watson is looking at nothing, Marcus can tell. Her arms are crossed tight over her stomach and her eyes are more inward than out.

"Hey," he says, putting the two coffees down on the end table near her elbow.

She stares at him. Well, mostly at his neck. "Oh. Oh my God. Detective."

"Yeah, Holmes isn't the only one who got a battle scar today," Marcus runs his finger along the edge of his bandage. "Twenty-one stitches. Wilson shot the gun out of his hand after he clipped me. He's downstairs waiting on a surgical eval. Name is Serge Mantlo."

" _Mantlo_ ," she echoes.

Marcus picks up his coffee. Black with three sugars. The one he brought for her is light with two Splendas, which might be a little sexist of him now that he thinks about it. "Kick in the head, right? I remember going to Cooper Union to question the little bastard when his step-mom got whacked three months ago, but I didn't recognize him until his hood fell off. His dad, that was your first collar, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," she says. "First ever." She rubs her arms as if against a sudden draft. "Are you telling me he's been following us?"

Marcus shakes his head. "He set a trap. That whole crime scene? His baby. Mocked it up with his roommate using a couple of bags he stole from the Red Cross blood-drive. Almost impressive, how he knew to fake a crime we would call you guys in for. Then he just sat back and waited."

She laughs to herself after a moment of silence, probably thinking about how embarrassed Holmes'll be when he finds out he got taken down by a college kid who isn't even passing all his classes. They kind of have to think it's funny. Otherwise it's depressing.

Marcus takes another sip and notices his free hand is trembling. "Shouldn't be drinking this," he says. "Still jittery from the adrenaline. Not that it matters, since I don't get to see my bed tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"We have this rule in my house. You get hurt on the job, you sleep alone." 

She frowns. "That sounds awful."

"Gets the point across." He shrugs. "Forces you to think about what stupid behavior you need to not repeat for next time. My partner, he's a firefighter. If he comes home with burns or whatever, he gets the couch, same as me."

"But what about..." Her voice trails off as she glances at his hand.

Marcus stretches his fingers and clenches his hand into a fist before shaking it out. "If I need to, I can break the rule." His stomach twinges. He gulps some more coffee to combat it, even though it might be the cause. "Haven't needed to yet."

Her expression softens. "I think I get it," she says.

"So," he says, because that's enough about his issues. "How are things on this end? No news yet, huh?"

"No, but-" She cuts herself off, smiling a little without her eyes. "His breath sounds were good. No indications of pneumothorax. He should be okay, even though..."

"Even though, what?"

"No, nothing." She pushes her hair behind her ears, opens her handbag, and thumbs the screen on her phone. Quietly, she adds, "There's just a lot you can miss. That's all."

Something in her expression makes Marcus think he isn't part of the conversation any more. "Joan?"

"I'm going to go get a coffee," she announces.

"I just gave you one," Marcus reminds her.

"Right." She exhales loudly. "Thank you. Marcus."

"Any time." She sips from her coffee and he from his. After a while, he spies a New York Times someone left a few chairs down. "You want the crossword?" he says.

"No, but-"

"Yeah?"

"Could you tell me more about your boyfriend? How you two met, maybe."

"I may have made us sound more exciting than we actually are," Marcus warns. 

Her smile is barely there, but it's more genuine than the one she's been trying on since he sat down. "Boring can be underrated."

~

Sherlock blinks awake, with eyelids heavy from sedation.

He hears the tell-tale scrape of a chair-leg against linoleum flooring, and he turns his head. 

Watson favors him with a warm smile. "Welcome back."

~

Marcus rolls over on the couch and ends up on his knees on the carpet. He can smell eggs and toast cooking in the kitchen. 

Jarell is at the stove, shuffling the contents of the frying pan with a spatula. He spins on his socked feet, grinning with pride for executing a perfect 180. 

Marcus laughs at him as he pours two glasses of orange juice. His hands are no longer shaking.

~

Tobias cracks his neck and smothers a yawn and sends his report to the printer. He happens to look toward the door just before Holmes raises his fist to tap against the glass. The guy looks like hell, but then he's been underslept and poorly shaven every single day of their acquaintance. There’s not much difference between recovering from a bullet wound Sherlock and status quo Sherlock.

Although this one is a lot more likely to fall over. Tobias eyes the visitor's seat, inclining his head for good measure. 

Holmes's mouth twitches. "Am I permitted the use of a chair?" he asks. "Wouldn't want to engender talk of... invalidation."

Tobias puts his glasses next to his keyboard. "I'll let it slide this once," he says. "Close the door."


End file.
